


Seized!

by killbot2000



Category: Dishonored
Genre: Character Death, Death of the Outsider, Gen, Human!Outsider, Karnaca (Dishonored), Post DotO, canon typical violence and gore, the Eyeless - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killbot2000/pseuds/killbot2000
Summary: The Outsider rejoins the mortal world, for better or worse. Billie Lurk hasn't got a coin to her name.





	1. Chapter 1

The void crumbled as they left. Upon touching the Eye again, the physical world crumbled as well. 

Billie kept a close watch on him as they left, leading him through the falling rocks and armed Eyeless. The infrastructure folded in on itself, beams rupturing and burying cultists under hundreds of pounds of stone. The Outsider followed her in a daze, his eyes sliding out of focus when she wasn't pulling on his arm. He saw something else. 

But the Eyeless weren't waiting. They came at the two, blades drawn, mouths in a stony snarl. Billie cut them down, the twin bladed knife slicing through their flesh with a hiss. Behind her, the Outsider watched, standing quite still. He nodded in grim satisfaction as she gestured him along, his head clearing for now. 

Daylight greeted them as they came upon the exit of the mine. The eerie silence broken only by crashes of the collapsing caverns. Billie didn't have time to watch the Outsider’s reaction as several more Eyeless emerged from the shadows, screaming curses at her. She approached and blocked the first woman's blow easily, left hand tucked behind her back. 

The woman screeched, blood flowing from the transformed part of her face. It looked reddened and her body appeared to be rejecting it. Or it was rejecting her body. It looked to be burning her flesh. And when she struck Billie a second time, the twin bladed knife flew from Billie’s hand. A few fingers followed, crumbling to dust like old paper giving out under too much stress. She gasped in shock, lifting her left wrist and firing an arrow at the mortal eye of the cultist, sending her flying away with the impact. A second man made to attack but was intercepted by another figure. The Outsider sliced up, through the wrist of the man, and drew the knife away. Screaming, the Eyeless brought his severed wrist to his body, and the Outsider drove the knife through his throat. The third and fourth cultists retreated from the courtyard, back into their dying mine. 

Billie watched them go with triumph, then turned to her companion. He dropped the knife, and the palms of his hands appeared reddened and angry. Her own arm, drawn from the void, seemed to be weakening. 

“Am I going to lose it?” She asked, demanding as he stared in mild apprehension at his hands. Her arm throbbed, her skin crawling. 

He rubbed them together and glanced up at her, “How am I to know anymore?” Then he slid the knife to her with his foot. It hit her boot and sent dust flying. Billie scowled and stooped to grab it with her left hand. 

It wasn't far to her camp in the abandoned rail station. Ash filled the air, and she wasn't sure where it came from. It was falling thicker and thicker. She could scarcely breathe. 

The Outsider remained silent. Her luggage folded neatly into itself, no bulging fabrics, no missing pieces, and she didn't need to sit on the lid of the trunk in order to close it. 

“I'll take you to Karnaca. There's enough work there and enough ports to take you anywhere you'd want to go. Assuming you have the money.” Her words were level, careful, despite the return of the persistent pain in her arm. She despised him for that. 

He nodded, understanding the arrangement. He had no other options but to trust her, and she knew that. Not that she meant to back him into a corner, but she felt responsible for getting him on his feet before disappearing. Billie herself had no other options. There was nothing left for her now, but the prospect of starting over excited her as it never failed to do. 

The trek from Shindaery Peak down to the capital of Serkonos is was long. The cold weather didn't last after they reached sea level. The coast was warm in the afternoons, though slightly overcast at night and in the mornings. Billie had no tent, so they had to take up shelter in abandoned shacks and ranches. 

On the fifth day the Eye disappeared from her face. Underneath was the closed scarred lid she dreamt about for so long. The day after, her arm followed. It was surprisingly easy to adjust to the loss, like she had been dealing with it for years already. 

“You have no connection to the void. Does it feel… different? Like you're missing a part of yourself?” 

The Outsider stared at her a moment. His eyes looked too blank, too human. “You would know that feeling better than I. My eyes have opened but it has taken my sight.” 

She didn't ask him again. All she could do was assume the void was destroying itself from the inside out. But she hadn't talked to any marked to know for sure. The two surviving were both in Dunwall, cleaning up the mess a coven had left. 

They reached Karnaca mid-day, riding on the back of a supply wagon into the city. Billie took him to the market where they bought their first non-canned food in a week. She stared at the rows of butchered fish with an absent, empty feeling. She was numb, spent and exhausted. A hood was pulled far over her head to ward off prying eyes. 

The Outsider explored the market with distant curiosity, and while he appeared to know what he was looking for, there was a strong trace of hesitation in his actions. He would take things in his hands and drop them immediately, and she caught him stumbling on uneven pier planks repeatedly. She kept quiet until they were out of the docks, packs of fresh fish and fruit in hand. He followed her closely, careful not to stray and lose himself among the hungry alleys of the city. He watched for the Grand Guard as she lifted herself into a building with billowing white banners across its front. Seized! Billie quickly scouted the inside for any dangers and returned to him, carefully helping him into the window. She replaced the wooden shutters across the frame. 

A fire soon danced shadows along the walls, painted deep red and gold. Dust and dirt had gotten into the apartment, and when Billie stripped the beds and couches of blankets, it sent the two of them coughing and hacking. She stayed on the first level, locking the door into the hall with the chain, and then checked the windows for any unnoticed entrances. 

On a pan found in the kitchen, she showed him how to cook the fish, and dished it out for the both of them. 

“You can't feel it anymore, can you?” This was the first instance of the void she had spoken of since the disappearance of her arm and eye. The Outsider didn't look up from his nearly clean plate, but instead traced patterns on it with his fork. Billie’s mouth twitched in annoyance. “It's detaching from this world.” 

His voice sounded like that of a god when he spoke, the great being he once was, “The void can never die. Just as it cannot exist without this world. The two are one in the same, one cannot exist without the other.” He fell silent again, still not meeting her eye. She had only seen him once as a god, eyes black as coal, but it was a strange thing to see him without them. No longer the black-eyed bastard, but a beggar, cast out onto the streets as he had been in another life. A life she knew well. 

She placed another piece of wood on their fire; the nights got colder as the seasons changed into the winter. The seas didn’t freeze this far south, but the fog and rain of the coast brought on enough problems of their own. 

Frustration. “Fine, answer how you will. There are bloodflies upstairs, don't stray too far. Or go if you want, I can't tell you what to do.” She pulled the blanket around her, lying close to the fire. She waited for sleep, listening to the sounds of the Outsider as he moved around the apartment. She wondered if he ever slept in the void. 

Dreams brought the spray of the ocean on her face, the rock of the waves. The Dreadful Whale puttered on, through currents of jaded blue waters. The longing to be back on a ship tugged on her nearly as strong as her responsibility to the Outsider. Nearly as strong as her promise to Daud. All things can be broken. She heard his voice, the sound of a thousand dying whales, entering her priceless solitude. She heard him again, calling her name. Why can't I feel it anymore? And he was silent. 

She woke, startled, spliced back into consciousness with a rough hand. From upstairs the sounds of a voice could be heard through the wooden planks. She listened closely, trying to identify the sound of the intruder. It seemed to escape the bounds of her familiarity, so she armed herself and walked out of the room and into the kitchen, where the door to the hallway stood. 

“There's someone-” She meant to say, informing the Outsider of her intentions, but she found him nowhere. 

The chain on the door hung from its lock. 

Billie threw the door open and dashed up the steps. Slightly ajar, the door to the upper level invited her inside with a tickling breeze. She accepted it, quietly and carefully. Damp air greeted her with the scent of plant life; warm, moist, and rotting. The floorboards crumbled underfoot into dirt. Roots shot through the wood grain, and branches reached the ceiling like dark skeletal fingers. A purple glow reached her. 

The Outsider’s back was to the door. He hunched over an altar that struck a tone of familiarity in her. A shrine, offering runes or money or blood to the god. The ones Daud visited so many years before, where she would wait wistfully as he was spoken to. She would take it all back. 

Suddenly, he turned to her. His eyes were blurred and hazel and he reached out to her. 

“I can hear them. Crying for me. They're afraid I have abandoned them.” He stumbled forward. 

Billie held out her arm, nearly a defensive measure from his erratic stepping, the knife still in her hand. “Who's calling you?” 

He didn't reply at once, but blinked back what might've been tears. She swore the glint of black danced in those eyes. “The leviathans.” 

At that he sunk to his knees on unsteady feet, and she reluctantly walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder. Billie crouched and watched him, face now vacant. The hum of the shrine echoed above her, the runes calling out. The Outsider blinked once more and looked up at her. 

“I think I have abandoned them.” 

To that, she could say nothing. The runes hummed. 

She rubbed his shoulder as he grappled with reality, occasionally starting sentences but cutting them short. His eyes looked but saw nothing. The noise of the runes was becoming unbearable, an insistent vibration that rattled her skull. 

Finally, she stood and placed her hands onto the altar. The pattern of the drapes twisted like purple and gold snakes, writhing in the fabric. She held the bone in her palm, feeling the smoothness of its surface. 

Soon she couldn't feel the Outsider leaning against her leg, or the humidity of the room, or even her own hair on her face. The altar expanded, and she rose her arm to protect her face from the shrapnel, but no impact came.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support [thumbs up emoji] not sure where I'll go with this but I've got a couple more chapters planned out. Comments and kudos are always appreciated, thanks for reading x

It was different, so different. The black of the void was getting hotter, searing her like the days at the end of a Serkonian summer. The water under her feet and whatever it was keeping her upright steamed and bubbled. Sweat dripped down her brow. 

The urge to call out came to her, but she couldn't find the will to do it. She may draw the attention of something unsavory. The shadows stretched and gleamed into menacing faces. 

Ahead of her lay the same rock formation where she had found the Outsider previously, encased in stone. She took a step forward and it lurched back, like a cruel joke. Another step and it went further still. She broke into a jog, then a run, but it never came closer. Her feet slapped against the watery ground. Soon, it disappeared. 

She slowed, and was about to shout in frustration when a long, drawn out note came from above her. 

Looking up, she found a whale floating hundreds of feet above, vast and grey. Its song was one of pain, she realized, a moan of agony. The entire underbelly was sliced open, leaking blood and entrails into the heat of the void. Its flesh looked sickly and she couldn't say how long the whale had been suffering like this. It could have been for eternity. The scene was not unlike the slaughterhouse Daud blew up years ago. One of their last missions together, as she had already fallen into Delilah’s seduction. And she had been ready for respect, for power, for the blood spilt to be in her name. 

The whale called again. It sang to her, despite its drawn out death, it sang. 

“I can't help you.” She called up to it, “He's not coming back.” Now all she could hope for was redemption. 

Billie found a tear falling from her eyelashes. It dropped onto the ground, sending ripples around her feet in the black water. Was she ready for power now? The tug of the void was weakening. 

“There's no one for you now, you're on your own.” 

He forgave her so easily. Was it worth it? The last mission before he died. Did she care? His last mission was hers. She didn't feel as if she could ever repay him for the skills, the training, the uniform, the acceptance, and the betrayal. 

Hot wind came from the left, ripping through her hair. It brought sand and what could've been tiny shards of glass. Blood beaded along her skin where the gust hit. The scenery changed. 

The mine of Shindaery Peak stretched endlessly before her. It was in ruins, the walls crumbled, the Eyeless in heaps of gore and stone, fires roaring from their escaped confines. The books of the vast library caught easily, their ancient secrets soon to be nothing but powder. 

Knowledge of the void, all gone. These people were the most learned and they're dead, their notes and teachings destroyed. She shivered despite the heat. “The Leviathans are alone.” 

Glass shattered far down the halls, it roared like a great beast released from its cage. The cloud of shards blew around a corner, and as it hit her, the void changed again. 

It didn't settle this time, just churned on itself, shifting endlessly like a milky ink. The heat was bordering on unbearable, its sharp fingers prodding her spine and the back of her neck. A whisper caressed her ear. 

“You loved me, once.” 

The scent of roses tickled her nose, the thorns circled her throat. 

“I ache to know why no longer, my dear.” 

The void tumbled with dying grace, like a landslide claiming a mountainside city. 

Nothing came to her lips, she could not speak to what she could not see. The flowers bloomed in the cracks of the void- wild and rotting. 

The altar table slammed under her hands. The air stopped moving and was still. Soft purple light filtered through her lashes, and the world was quiet. Long breaths came from the Outsider, still sitting against her leg, and she realized he was sleeping at last. How long was she gone?

Cool air dried the sweat on her face, very real outside the void. Nearly healed scabs covered where the sand and glass hit. She welcomed the cold, feeling the draft from the window behind the altar, which fluttered the purple drapery in its gentle gusts. 

The next morning, Billie split the fruit from the market between them, setting them on the washed plates from the last meal. She helped him wash the first, and let him do the rest. He still had trouble with mundane tasks, and fumbled more than what was normal. The slightest trace of frustration was evident on the corners of his mouth and she knew being thrust into the world as unceremoniously as he had would take its toll. 

Still, he learned quickly, the pattern that of skills once known but lost to disuse. The morning stretched on. 

“What did you see?” The dead fire sat between them. “Everyone sees something, even if it's nothing.” 

She couldn't find where to start. “It's changing. It's so hot now, and melting, like it's indecisive. And the whales,” her breath caught, “the whales are dying. They've been dying. They won't stop.” 

“They have nothing.” His eyes studied her, white and hazel and unsettling. They were wrong, much like the heat of the void. “Just as we do. You can't save them, they're waiting for someone new to embody the void.” 

“Waiting in death? Will the creatures ever rest?” The visions of gore came back to her. The dying songs. 

“I can't help them anymore, and neither can you. It's best we focus on this world.” The Outsider would have no more. He paced in their small apartment overrun with invasive plant life, lit only by the windows they neglected to cover up. 

Billie began to plan. She planned their living, and the cost to do so. She studied her skills, and determined how much they were worth. And she decided how far she would go. Would blood needn’t be spilt? Old habits were the toughest to break. For him she found janitorial work, where he could keep his head down in a back room, or a loud and crowded pub. Anything beside manual labor would let people take a closer look at him, and see something in him they shouldn't. She stole clothes from a line set out to dry, a workers set for the both of them. There was also a hooded cloak for less… conspicuous activities. She promised herself it would be a last resort, an easy way out that was so easy it was giving up. 

The black market offered her a contract, she picked it up after helping the Outsider find the pub he'd be mopping floors for. It was a dingy, disgusting place that didn't offer too much in the hopes of pay, but she only needed something for him to do. The remaining Eyeless cultists seemed to flock there as well, so it wasn't an entirely bad idea to have a man on the inside. 

The first contract described an heirloom lost in an estate sale that the family wanted back. Unfortunately for Billie, the family wasn't willing to pay the buyers back, and the buyers weren't willing to part with it. She climbed onto the balcony of an abandoned apartment and observed the goings-on inside the building across the street. Once she determined the inhabitants weren't going anywhere, and she was running out of time, she made her way over the pavement. 

There were several Grand Guard soldiers, but they didn't take a second look at her in the worker’s clothes she wore. Instead, they harassed a beggar dressed in rags. The beggar clutched in his hands a small purse that could have contained any number of things, and the soldiers decided it contained their business. Billie took the shrieks as her cue to enter in the house through a window unnoticed. The window closed silently as she guided it down and muffled the shouts of the guards. She found herself in a storage room, with stacks of boxes and folded drapery or blankets. 

“Alright, where are you?” She muttered, and for the first time since Shindaery she wished for the powers of the void back. But the lack of void powers and a right arm never stopped her before, not even on infiltration jobs. 

The job went smoothly, no eyes fell upon her, and the heirloom was rather easy to find. It matched the description given by the market contract, and sat atop a fireplace mantel. The golden plate was awkward to carry out, and with only one hand it made opening doors and the like more difficult than was necessary. She only allowed herself to wallow in frustration until she was nearly seen trying to get into a closet by a servant. 

The second job was considerably easier; shake down the local barkeeper for money she supposedly lost in a bet. She wasn't a small woman, and towered over Billie easily. Her eyes were small and beady and her breath stank of whiskey. 

“You've been holding onto something that isn't yours.” Billie said, leaning onto her elbow atop the counter. The hood was back over her head, pulled over her eye level. “Pass it on to me and you won't have a problem.” 

The woman spit onto the floor. It seemed forced. “That snake Harper send you? Wait, wait, I shouldn't ask, you'll just say yes. Can't trust anyone these days, including strange women trying to hide their faces. That's an interesting way to wear a hood, wonder if I should call the Guard,” The rambling continued, sweat beaded on her face and neck. Billie watched patiently. She rambled faster and her eyes struck onto whatever was behind her. There was just enough time for Billie to listen and hear heavy boots falling behind her. 

“Shit.” A large hand with an iron grip set itself on her shoulder, nearly trapping her between it and the floor she stood on. She dropped and spun herself around the grip, landing behind the assailant. He grunted in shock. A second man drew his meaty fists up to his face, ready to block or brawl or smash her skull in. 

She grabbed the first man around his neck with her arm, sliding his chin above her elbow. He choked on the escaping air. Then she pulled, walking backwards away from the other man. The first fell limp in the crook of her arm, and she let him crumple to the floor. His purple-lipped face stared up at him as she stepped over his head. 

Approaching the second man, she lifted her fist to protect her face and waited for the first blow. He swung, slow and unbalanced. She sidestepped and landed a punch on his exposed jaw. There was no time for him to recover and she rammed into him with her shoulder, throwing him into the bar. He stumbled into the edge and slammed his nose into the corner. Blood spurted and he screamed, grabbing at the center of his nose. Finally, he fled the scene, blood trailing after him. 

Billie let herself catch a breath before turning to the barkeeper and holding her hand out. The keeper begrudgingly agreed, setting a hefty pouch into her upturned palm. 

The trip back to the black market was quick and painless due to her change back into the worker persona and the general lack of attentive Guards. They dozed upright, occasionally snoring. 

“This all for today?” The shopkeeper asked, a hunched skinny man missing many of his fingers. He slid her her payment across the counter. The shop smelt of cigar smoke. 

The Outsider waited for her in front of the bar he worked at that day looking rather exhausted. She kept back a laugh as he complained of his aching back and wet feet. 

“The patrons are incredibly rude. The Eyeless. They stare at me, like they know.” His words were nervous. 

“We have no way of knowing, best not to worry about it. Whether they know for sure or not isn't going to stop them if they decide to kill you.” 

He frowned, “Reassuring, thank you.” 

“I'll teach you something so you won't have to worry.” She peered inside a closed shop, where a clock hung on a nearby wall, “The market’s still open, I don't think the fish is as fresh this time of day, but they might give us a discount.” She redirected their steps along a wider street, less slick with approaching winter, he followed. 

The sun set, setting forming puddles aflame.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone, here's my gift from me to you, also please forgive the erratic point of view changes

“You're not leaving?” Was it relief in his voice? Couldn't be. Doubt, maybe. “You've surprised me.” And he made a face, that face that bothered her so. Like he was still a god. 

“You're making that face again.” She responded. The expression dropped, but she knew it was relief in his words. 

No, she wasn't abandoning him to the mercy of the Karnacans, sun tanned and diligent. She wasn't worried about them, but rather the Abbey. The Outsider’s capture would eventually lead to her own. She was all too familiar with the favored methods of torture used against heretics the Overseers employed. 

His too-light eyes met her own, showing gratitude in the best way he might. “What will you do next?” 

“I have a few connections. I'm not eager to jump back into the old ways, but it pays well. Better than the contracts back at the market.” 

The Outsider nodded, crossing his arms. His black coat had been traded in for a shabby brown to match her own. They could move freely around the docks and city now, provided they wore wide-brimmed hats or the like. 

Their free time was spent sparring, and while he still had a ways to go, Billie would make an accomplished swordsman of him yet. The apartment was much cleaner due to their combined efforts, but the shrine upstairs in the rotting room was left untouched. Boards and dirt still covered the outside, and after nightfall they had to conceal any fires or lights from the Grand Guard.

The Outsider didn't question why she still kept all her clothes in her suitcase, or why she sat, day after day, sharpening the blade with the wooden handle. He learned from his eternity in the void people were better left to their habits. 

But what surprised him one day, was her act of writing a letter during a nasty downpour. Her handwriting was dark, strokes pressed hard on the page, resulting in thick lines that threatened to bleed through the paper she wrote on. He had seen a similar hand before; in the journal Daud kept, next to his bed those long years in the Flooded District. Words like the dark rain on their windows. 

“Who's it to?” 

Billie set her pen down, letting the ink dry. The edges of the paper curled in the humidity, but she left them. “An old friend. I just hope it'll get to him.” 

“This friend doesn't have an address, does he?” 

At that Billie smiled and began to fold the paper. “I don't think he's ever had one. Not since the Flooded District. None of us did.” She placed the letter in the envelope and sealed it with candle wax. 

“It's hard to start with nothing, isn't it?” 

“Every time it's harder, maybe I'm just getting older.” 

The Outsider wasn't sure what to say to that. 

Billie didn't get back until after nightfall. He sat in the center of the largest room, contemplating the fire pit they’d created from the floor. It was excruciating to be alone; he'd never felt this in the void. She was off at the black market, presumably to find the address of her colleague, but he felt slight resentment at the thought of meeting someone new. It really was hard to start with nothing. 

The next day wasn't better. Patrons of the bar eyed him suspiciously, they talked in hushed whispers amongst themselves when he passed by. At one point he made to grab one’s empty cup at the same moment she did and their hands touched. She pulled away her hand with amazing speed and grabbed it with the other like it was burnt. They made eye contact, and the woman stared at him with accusatory olive eyes. The Outsider tensed. 

Instead, she took a shaky breath and rose her chin, “Best watch yourself, boy. We have friends in places you don't rather not see.” 

He looked down and backed away, muttering an apology. Her words nearly made him laugh; he knew her friends, and none of them were worse than a pupil of the man who killed the empress. They might be bad, but they were all spineless, interested in living forever instead of accepting the cruel fate of death. If he ever told them what immortality was like it might convince them to give up their aspirations. 

Soon his time was up, and the work he'd been assigned was done. The closet where the mops were kept turned blue due to the stained windows set high in the wall. The floor looked watery and green. He hurried, quickly shutting the last of the storage lockers. Before he could turn around completely, an arm lashed out and struck him against the loud metal of the locker. It held him, now turning him to face his attackers. They all glared at him hungrily, tongues lolling like wolfhounds. 

“It's him I'm telling you.” Said a woman, the same one he touched hands with earlier. 

A man with a dagger glared at her, then back to the Outsider, “Can’t be, he hasn't got the eyes.” 

“He’s hiding them, idiot.” A third said. 

The woman let out a groan of frustration, “Do you think he'd be letting us do this if he was a god? He's a man.” 

Quarreling broke out, even the man holding him against the locker got a few words in. 

“It is him though, right?” The man with the dagger said again, and slowly he brought the weapon up to the Outsider’s chin. “I can't wait to see what happens when we bleed him.” 

The woman snarled and more voices rose, “We’re not killing him-” 

“-Take him back to Shindaery to kill him.”

“-Didn’t Harper tell you? There's nothing fucking left.” 

He was beginning to panic, but the Eyeless seemed too far from a decision to act. The dagger hilt against his stomach screamed to be put to good use. 

Slowly, he moved his hand, eyeing the cultist holding him. He was spitting with anger, insisting they kill the Outsider now while they had him. Under his shirt he grabbed the handle, tucked safely into his belt. The blade swung in an arc, flashing in the blue light when he used it. It tore through the cultists underarm, severing muscle and tendons. He let him go as he screamed. 

The Outsider moved, throwing himself under the remaining cultists’ grips as they reached for him. He didn't turn, no matter what they yelled at him, he ducked and ran. 

A bolt flew into the street as he shoved the front doors open. Several dock workers stared at him with gentle curiosity but he did his best to ignore it. People never looked at him like that before. He scrambled into an alley next to the bar. It ended level with the roofs of another street and a view of the sea. 

A gust of wind came, blowing the scent of dead fish into his face and hair. The voices of the cultists still screamed behind him. With a deep tinge of regret, he hopped down onto the tin roof and ran to the south. His boots made hollow clicking sounds on the metal, and several people looked up, alarmed at the noise. 

He threw himself over the balcony rail that blocked the roof he was on. The apartment attached looked inhabited, the porch swept and door open, so he crossed the other half of the railing and moved on. A second balcony came, this one looking far too dusty to house anything besides dock rats. He climbed over the rail, threw the door open, and leapt quickly in, shutting the door quietly behind him. The door clicked and he leaned his back against it, breathing heavily. 

Once his breath returned and his hands stopped shaking, he stepped away from the door to inspect the apartment. Blue light from the approaching twilight bathed the white walls and turned the deep red couches a shade of slate grey. Dead plants hung from the ceiling in suspended planters and a thick coat of dust covered every surface. Aside from that, the place looked precise, no stray angles or rumpled fabric. 

The lock on the window gave easily from its rusted state, sending shards of dark brown to the floor. On the other side of the building there wasn't a balcony, but a roof several feet down. The noise from the Eyeless had died down significantly, either deciding he wasn't the Outsider, or he was and used whatever godly powers he possessed to return to the void. 

He cursed the cult under his breath and climbed onto the window frame. The top of the roof teased the soles of his feet, promising a sturdy and steady drop. The Outsider scooted further out of the window and finally let himself off the edge. The promise of a sturdy drop has been a lie, of course, and a flame of pain flared in his left ankle. He cursed again, nearly tripping as he tried to move. Physical pain was much more difficult to get used to than he anticipated.

The rooftops lead him back to Billie and their home. Home? He wasn't sure yet. These mundane formalities didn't do him any good, and felt that they did no good for Billie either. She was practical, no shit taken or given. Calling their squat a home wasn't something she'd lose sleep over, and he wouldn't let it. 

The final rays of sunshine vanished under the horizon and he climbed into the infested building in near darkness. 

“You're back late.” She commented. There was a book in her hand, and she seemed to be reading it by candlelight. A pair of spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, most likely stolen from some influential politician. The flame only illuminated half her face; the half scarred by some past accident. How many times had he seen that time in the void? And now he had forgotten. 

The Outsider carefully replaced the door into its frame. “The Eyeless are more informed than we thought. They had me pinned in the back room and were deciding what to do when I escaped. They know about Shindaery, and they know I'm mortal.” 

Billie didn't look up from her reading, “And what are you going to do about that?” 

“Far worse things than death await us if they catch me.” The corners of his thin lips were turned down in a scowl. Shadows of frustration danced over his forehead. 

“They await you. You understand they can't do anything if they can't catch you.” She set down her book and pulled the frames off her face, “I have no intentions of being caught, neither should you.” 

People speaking to him in such manners was still foreign to him; without awe, fear, or respect. She spoke to him without caution. Why didn't he mark her so long ago? “They'll come for you too.” 

“So I have to protect you to cover my own ass?” 

“To put it crudely, yes.” 

She let a thin smile dance across her lips. Yes, she used the same logic as he, perhaps they were more alike than she thought. In many ways they had already been; a child, alone and seeking help. One came across a sacrificial altar, the other across a killer. There was a point of highness, near invincibility. Now, nothing. 

“I have some good news. The letter to my contact made it through and I've gotten a reply. He can help us get back on our feet.” 

“Who is it?” 

“An old colleague from when we ran with Daud. Thomas. We're still in touch.” 

He nodded. “I remember such a name.” 

“I'm sure there's a lot you remember.” 

The Outsider moved into the sitting room and sat on the other wooden chair, his face inclined to the ground, thinking, too distracted to be annoyed at her, “No, no, it’s all too patchy. It's getting worse.” 

“Like my eye, my arm.” Billie said, “you've lost your connection, and you'll lose your memories.” She wasn't unsympathetic, but her words were impatient. “Look, if you can't work at that bar anymore we're gonna have to find a new-” 

“After your friend shows up, I'll look myself.” He told her sharply. “I'll give my contribution.” 

They lay awake that night, each on their own mattress on the floor of the sitting room. The cold seeped in through the cracks in the walls, chilling them to their very bones. Billie stared at the ceiling, blue with frozen starlight. Her mind, too anxious to sleep, buzzed in on itself, turning information over and over. 

She resigned to the clear emptiness of alertness and threw the blankets off herself. The door into the hallway barely creaked out a whisper when she opened it and let herself out. The Outsider listened silently as she did so, his own eyes shut tight. 

Her socked feet padded noiselessly up the stairs and down the second hallway. The soft rotten door greeted her with a near broken smile. The smile of a dying aged man who has yet to realize his fate. It opened. 

Only a single lantern had stayed lit; the others long since exhausted of whale oil. It sat atop the altar, beckoning her with a wispy purple finger. The room, despite the season, stayed the same humid temperature it had during the summer. She approached the altar. 

But upon reaching it, she found not a thing to say. She wasn't the praying type, but she had always found a reassurance that there was a presence beyond her. All Daud’s worship never lead her to pray the Outsider would mark her. She knew the void had chosen who it wanted, and she was not in the place to argue with it.

“What will you have me do?” 

Her forceful words had no effect on the altar. It stood silently, its wooden legs straight and dignified. The silence was deafening. Then she grabbed the edge, and flipped the thing over. She shouted, cursing the oil, cursing the void, cursing the very blood in her veins. Pieces of metal scattered on the rotten floor, flying, and taking chunks from the boards. Oil dripped from the mess. The bow on her wrist sprung as she released a dart and replaced it for an explosive one. 

The oil flared instantly, releasing whatever spores of decay nested in the wood. 

She returned to the main room, taking her coat from a peg on the wall, and her sword from its perch on a desk. The Outsider was still up, now sitting up in his makeshift bed scratching his head. 

“There's a fire.” 

The Outsider lifted a brow but said nothing. 

“Get your things.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone here's a gift, I hope you enjoy

The Outsider found it hard to look back over his shoulder at the burning building. The dampness kept it confined to just the one room, but every now and then a great tongue of flame would shoot from the window. He couldn't hear the roar of the fire from the street over, but it reached him as a gentle sigh. 

Billie kept several strides ahead of him, her posture rigid and upright. The suitcase was left in the apartment. She had grabbed only the change of clothes, money, and the sword. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he didn't want to find out. Something had overcome her, maybe the power of the void, maybe something else. 

“Where are we going?” He tested the waters, hesitantly. 

Billie didn't answer immediately, but let out a long sigh. He gritted his teeth in frustration. “We were too close to the Abbey.” 

“The Abbey hasn't been looking for us, and we've kept to ourselves. The only way they'd know of us was if someone told them.” 

“Could've been the Eyeless.” 

He caught up with her, grabbing her arm, “The Abbey doesn't know we're here. What are you doing?” She shrugged him off, a scowl on her face. 

“This is how it goes. If you’re wanted by someone, you run. We don't have the luxury of redemption; these people will kill us.” 

Her words caught him off guard. The idea of mortality still struck when he didn't expect, biting him in the ways hunger sometimes did when he let it get away from him. 

“Fine. But warn me, in the future.” 

Billie nodded, “We’re going north, where I set a meeting place with Thomas. We can find somewhere new to stay after that.” 

“You didn't tell him where we stayed?” 

She hesitated, “I-” then closed her mouth again. “People sometimes change. You don't know if the man you knew ten years ago is still there.” 

“People are good at that. Never changing in the ways that matter, though. Your mentor was a shining example.” He shivered in the air, every exhale a great cloud. A thin fog hung in the air. The teeth in his skull chattered and his hands shook. She looked over at him with sympathy creeping behind her front of aggravation. 

“Here, take this. Not all of us are lucky enough to enter the world during a summer in Karnaca.” She threw the red leather coat over his shoulders, adjusting it slightly on his frame. 

He blew out another great cloud of condensation, “Thank you.” 

The great heat of Karnaca had seeped out of the city as quickly as it came, through the smooth stone streets and the footsteps of the Duke’s men. 

“This weather beats Dunwall. And living at sea.” She began to search through the pockets of the coat she was wearing, muttering, “And it really beats growing up on the streets of Dunwall. So fucking cold I can feel it now, all these years later.” 

She found what she was looking for: a cigar and box of matches. With a swift flicking motion a match was lit, and she brought it to her face. The Outsider remained silent while she blew the first rings from the cigar. She held it out to him, in a gesture of offering. He was hesitant in accepting it and bringing it to his lips. 

The smoke made him gag when he inhaled and Billie laughed. “Sorry.” 

He handed the cigar back to her, “Can't be good at everything, I suppose.” 

The end of the cigar glowed brightly as she inhaled, “I suppose not.” The streets still passed them quickly as she led them through the maze of the city, their way lit by street lamps and a fat moon. 

“Daud really did save you, didn't he?” 

“He didn't save me. I saved myself.” Ash fell to the cobbled road, “He decided to take me in instead of killing me. Is that saving?” 

“Better than what would've happened had he left you.” 

Billie barely flicked her eye in his direction as they walked. His words unsettled her for the most fleeting of moments. “I respect the man for what he did. We all made mistakes along the way.” The Outsider seemed to scoff, white air blowing from his nostrils in a great flare. “Doesn't matter. We're here.” 

They stopped in front of an alley that dipped between two buildings. On the left wall he could see the faintest alcove lit by a lamp. The two approached, walking down the gentle concrete decline. A door stood in the alcove, a door the color of the sea from an overlook in the Batista District. Paint chipped away around the edges, revealing rusted metal. She knelt and felt around the trim of the doorframe with her hand, and eventually pulled a small gold key from the wood. 

The door gave easily when she turned the key, and he quickly followed her in. The light of the outside lamp was cut off as she shut the door, and they were left in darkness, save for Billie’s still-lit cigar. 

“Look for a lamp,” she growled around the stump in her mouth, smoke burning furiously at the end. 

The Outsider fumbled in the dark until he came upon what could be a lamp, round and tin in his hands. “This it?” She was silent upon inspecting it, and dropped the butt of her cigar into the oil at the bottom. 

It flared and cast a thin light across the walls, failing to reach the corners and cracks. 

The room was small, with what seemed like a kitchen and a door leading to a small balcony and a window. The blue light of night barely shone through the windows despite the fullness of the moon. A small vase filled with wilted plants sat in the window sill next to the door. A single petal floated down to the ground as he watched. 

“When will he get here?” 

“Sometime past dawn. I don't know how far away he is. We’ll just have to wait.” She began to drag a couch closer to the source of light he held, its feet scratching the wooden floors. 

“You'll want to put that back. Can't let him know we spent the night here,” the Outsider told her. She smiled at him. 

“Thank you for understanding.” 

“I trust you'll tell me if something is off with him.” He said, “I never watched him in the void. It’s surprising how boring blind obedience is.” 

Billie almost laughed, “I won't tell him you said that.” 

He smiled at her and said nothing more. It was good to see her spirits lifted after the fire. He knew she set it, he wasn't stupid, but he wasn't sure why. Frustration? Acceptance? His teeth ground in on themselves. Without the void to help him she was a mystery. 

“Let's get some rest, you can have the couch, I think there's a linen closet upstairs with blankets.” She disappeared into an unseen stairwell. He didn't see her come back down; he slept as soon as he laid on that couch. 

His sleep was dreamless and black; warm and crumbling like the void. 

When he woke he was greeted by a faint smell of cigar smoke. Warm light filtered through the windows and lit the thin blanket draped over him. Billie must've made it back from the linen closet. He looked around the room and found her on the floor tucked under several more blankets. 

The scent of tobacco smoke was growing stronger. The Outsider rose, shielding his face from the rising sun. On the balcony outside stood a figure. 

He scrambled, waking Billie as gently as he could given the circumstances. “He's here.” 

She cursed, a string of vulgarity disturbing the morning air. The twin doors squeaked as she opened them. Cold air blew into the apartment. 

The man stood facing away from them in a long brown coat. Smoke drifted from above his head. 

“Never thought you two were gonna wake up.” His voice was quiet, not in volume but in manner. He turned, and held his hand out to Billie. “Long time no see, eh?” Billie took it. 

“Let’s go inside.” Her voice was flat, unyielding despite Thomas’s friendliness. He dropped the cigarette in his hand and crushed it under his heel. 

The Outsider watched them come inside with a still eagerness. Thomas had the pale skin of a Dunwall native, but still tanned from being this far south. His hair was clipped and brown, clean cut and precise. He was unremarkable in appearance but his clothes were much more interesting.

They were well-made, tailored to him, brown and green in color, and must've cost a small fortune. But his shoes weren't the showy yet impractical footwear nobles tended to wear; they were heavy black boots, worn and scuffed, painfully out of place. 

The Outsider watched and said nothing. Thomas sat on a chair he dragged out of the kitchen, and Billie sat next to the Outsider. 

“So.” Thomas broke the silence with his hollow voice, “What can I do for you?” 

She regarded him carefully before speaking, “We need money and I need a job. All my old contacts seemed to have… dropped after Daud died. You're the only person from the old circle I still trust, not to mention still living. I- I need to make it this time. Not just until my luck runs out.” 

“Contract killing isn't the same as it once was. I still do small ones here and there, but nothing like we used to.” 

“And there will be nothing like it ever again. I'm not asking for that back.” 

“I thought you were above all this since you let him go.” At that, Thomas nodded his head to the Outsider.

Billie remained composed, but the Outsider could see the storm brewing beneath her calm gaze. 

“I like to think I am. But look at us, have we parted from our old ways? Daud never did, once you get a taste of it-” 

“And how do you think I got here?” Thomas asked, and the Outsider was once again stricken by his well-tailored clothes. “We can't escape what we did, only use it to our advantage. There are many people in Serkonos who want someone else dead. We're already well-reputable.” 

The Outsider fidgeted, something he picked up a while ago, finding that his body itched and pinched and hurt he found it easier to wring his hands together. He didn't like how the conversation was going. Billie looked to tense, too divided. She looked to him for a moment and he met her eye momentarily. Her expression changed to one of decisiveness. 

“Do you have any contracts?” 

Thomas nodded, and pulled a folded paper from his coat, “There's a network here, as is to be expected. It's crawling with Eyeless, though.” 

“That's why I mentioned them,” she replied, opening the paper and examining it. She read it with grim acceptance. “We can't show our faces, but you can, that is if you're still okay with it.” 

“Yes, I offered and I'll keep that responsibility. But I can't guarantee anything will go smoothly. If the Eyeless track you down here…” 

“We can handle it.” Billie told him curtly and tucked the paper away. 

Thomas nodded and leaned back into his chair. He looked across the abandoned apartment with something like fondness. A cool wind blew threw the open kitchen window from the mild winter morning. The Outsider suddenly felt self-conscious as Thomas’s gaze fell on him. 

“This is who Daud died trying to kill?” 

The Outsider narrowed his eyes, “He died of heart failure-” 

“-Trying to kill a god, which I'm sure you had no control over. And his best student betrayed him again.” 

Billie sprung from her seat, face in a mask of rage, “You don't know the shit I've been through-” 

“I wasn't-” Thomas rose his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“You damn well did. I did what I had to do.” 

“I didn't have a stance on it, I'm sure you had your reasons.” He said gently. 

“Don't ridicule me, Thomas.” She walked toward the entrance of the apartment, “I'll see you out.” 

The Outsider couldn't read his face as he rose and followed her. 

Billie stood outside the blue door, arm folded across her chest as Thomas shut it. 

“That's really him?” 

Billie sighed and nodded her head, “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

“Do you just call him the Outsider?” 

“I don't really call him anything. His name can only be read by the dead.” 

“You don't know what it is, then?” 

“I had the chance to learn but.” She paused, “It was the last thing Daud said.” 

Thomas opened his mouth, presumably to pose another question, but thought better of it. 

“Thank you, Thomas. I'll repay you when this is all over.” 

“Don't worry about that, and I apologize, for earlier. I'm not accusing you of anything.” 

“I know you loved him. We all did, it broke my heart after Delilah’s spell lifted.” 

He smiled, melancholy. “I'll be in touch.” Thomas walked further down the alley and disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HC corvo as mute which I went ahead and wrote into this fic, it's not incredibly relevant to the plot but it may help a part make a little more sense. Anyway, as always, hope y'all enjoy and thanks for reading <3

The rain continued as he splashed down the street. It fell to the earth relentlessly, cleansing the gritty streets of the city. Great rivers flowed in the gutters into the sea. His feet hit the pavement in great wet slaps, sending spray in every direction. 

The Outsider held Billie’s red jacket over his head in a fruitless attempt to keep at least his head dry. He ducked under an overhang to a storefront and slid the coat on. It was waterproof, luckily, but a bit tight with his own on. The hood from his coat was soaked but he pulled it on anyway and headed back into the street. 

Blue-grey storm clouds hung directly over his head, they turned the ocean grey as well, and the oily water lapped at the shore hungrily. 

The next street over didn't produce the location he was looking for, either. He was running out of breath now and getting deeper into Abbey territory. He'd seen a handful of overseers lurking in shops open despite the weather. 

The black market Billie frequented either moved or had been found out. Whatever its fate, the Outsider had found it hours earlier deserted with no signs of struggle nor any direction to point him. He headed back out into the storm and now found himself lost and venturing deeper into the city. 

An overseer watched him from under another overhang, a gutter dumping gallons of water into the river beside him. The Outsider fought the urge to stare as he dashed past. The streets curled in on themselves like a squirming worm that'd been severed in half. They turned and flipped and spit him out in areas he’d never intended. He'd known the layout well as a god, but now, with his deteriorating memory, he found himself at a loss. 

A well-lit alley approached in his right, and he quickly ran into it. The buildings’ roofs managed to shelter the walkway and keep it relatively dry. The Outsider leaned against the wall, grabbing the stitch in his side, and caught his breath. His hands trembled from the cold and he found them a strange splotchy blue and red color. He shook them in hope of returning proper blood flow. He was struck with annoyance, once again, at the flaws of a mortal body. 

“Blood!” He scoffed softly to himself, just loud enough to carry over the storm. 

“Hey!” A woman's voice sounded from farther down the alley. She ran up into his field of view, brandishing a sword. “The hell are you doing here?” Her attire was that of the Howlers, but she was alone. 

He sighed, feeling his entire body sagging in irritation. He was beginning to regret leaving the apartment. 

But his mind still worked quick, quicker than most moral humans, “You better get back.” He called to her, “they're beginning to suspect you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She yelled, but less confrontational than before. 

“The informant. They think it's you.” 

Silence. Then the pattering of footfalls as she ran. 

The Outsider let out a breath. He peered down the alley to see her disappearing and crept from his place against the wall. The paranoia since Durante’s capture had led the Howlers to believe of a leak in the ranks. The void had shown this to him long ago when Emily Kaldwin ran through the Dust District causing mayhem and bloodshed. Did the void know then that he would end up this way? He had seen it, as he saw everything but never, ever thought it would come to pass until the Eyeless were knocking on his front door. 

Wind began to pick up back out on the street, blowing the rain at incredible speeds. The Outsider pushed farther into Howler territory, hoping only for solace from the rain. He was quiet, as Billie taught him, as he watched his marked many times from the void. 

The apartment adjacent to the alley was abandoned, luckily empty of bloodflies, but the floorboards creaked under his boots. He moved up a flight of stairs, quiet as he could. Leaks from the ceiling dripped onto his shoulders, never letting the red leather dry. He ascended the second flight up to the roof. The wind blew, turning his coat collar up and his now too-long hair into his eyes. Ahead were the remains of the third story; a room crumbling to pieces held up by the beams of the roof. He slowly entered the room, carefully placing his feet so as not to upset the delicate balance of the architecture. Across from him, tucked away into what looked to be a closet, spilled out faint purple light. 

The shine was small with only one lantern, littered with leaves the rain had brought in. The Outsider placed his palms on the table with conviction, his hair slicked to his face, the hood long blown off, the violet light illuminating is pale, gaunt face. If anyone could see him at that moment they’d’ve called him an unmerciful god. 

The void yawned under his touch, opening in his mind like some disease of the brain. 

He settled in a street, cobbled and not unlike the ones of Karnaca. But this one was cold, a chill that was true, not some seasonal condition. The air itself seemed hostile, seeping into his skin one layer at a time. 

The road stretched on and he followed it, shivering. The coats he wore were still wet despite the dream. 

“What will you show me”? He found himself saying. The words tumbled from his mouth into the street and the void replied. 

It shifted into Dunwall, the streets below the cut stone cliffs the city rested on. 

He walked on, and the streets ran with sluggish black liquid. It wormed its way through the cracks in the stones and dips in the brickwork pattern. It coated his boots and he moved quicker before it could take him. The void left him a path of bodies, guards and aristocrats, all slain by a slice to the neck. Their faces were sunken in, dark blood leaking from their mouths and closed eyes, a symptom of late plague infection. Ahead stood the guilty man, sword drawn. Never did he find fear in his own creations, but now it struck him in the heart he tried so hard to deny he had. 

“This is what you'll become.” The masked felon told him, hand outstretched, accusing. Its glass eyes bore into him as rats did in the dead. The voice coming from his marked was his own, imbued with the power of the void. “This is the path she follows, and you follow her,” the voice continued, “But as you know, the future isn't set in stone. It flows unpredictably, but such is the quality of living creatures.” 

The figure was now beginning to fade, dripping black ooze in its wake, “Remember the plague, the chaos it wrought. Will you ever feel that much power again? That much influence?” The figure laughed, seething wind against the metal mask. “The company of murderers isn't new to you, still, doesn't it tire?” 

A loud hiss carried away its last words, a hiss from escaping steam of a large machine. The figure of Corvo Attano collapsed in on itself, leaving a puddle of blackened blood and plague. 

The Outsider turned as the swarm of rats came from that direction, he ran. The fear tightened in his chest, more persistent and aggressive than ever. But now it took him, not piece by piece but entirely. The cobbles under his feet turned icy in response. 

How long ago had he been the only being here? The void was quick to recover, quick to remake itself in the image of the old. It was as concrete as the physical world itself, never to be done away with, never to vanish completely. Something else inhabited it now. 

The path ahead turned into ice and snow, many sections floating off into space, the snow itself suspended in air. He was cold, so bitingly, frustratingly cold. It only got thicker as he continued, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his vision soon to be consumed by white. He looked down in the snowstorm, seeing his arms still covered in Billie’s red coat. Then it too was obscured by the snow and he saw no more. 

The rainy day in Karnaca greeted him, humid and damp and warm. He took several deep breaths, seeking to even his composure. The altar focused unto view before him. 

The fleeting pangs of fear died down, but in their place nested dread, alive and black and writhing. 

The Outsider dropped down from the roof he was on and onto the balcony below. He still approached drops carefully, and slid down on his backside, but eventually he would learn to land, or run, or balance on the crest of a rooftop. 

The balcony across the alley carried the sign of the black market; the dark hands exchanging. Two stories below the cobbled street stared at up at him. He tested the guard rail, pushing it roughly with his foot. When it did not give, he lifted himself onto the twisted metal and stood on the inch of wood between the rail and the street below. He braced himself and leapt across the gap. The other railing came at him fast; but stayed secure under his hands when he grasped it. It swayed gently, teasing him with its failing strength. 

The black market was past the next doorframe, down a story near the basement. The clerk watched him carefully as he approached. The Outsider’s hood replaced, and several cuts dotting his hands from the climbing. Thin blood ran off his fingers. 

The Outsider surveyed the merchandise quickly, and failing to locate what he needed, looked upon the clerk. “I need a blade. Whatever you can offer.” 

As the clerk turned to check their inventory, he could see a dark figure darting from his field of view. Dock rats scampered after it. Its glass eyes glinted in the lamplight. 

“This’ll be what we have. Take yer pick.” The clerk dumped several swords on the counter with a clang. They slid around and settled onto themselves. “We have others, but they may be… above the quality you're looking for.” The Outsider caught the clerk staring distastefully at his dock workers clothes, wet and ripped. 

“I'd like to see those.” He snapped, and, if he could've seen his own face, would regret the fear and disgust he struck into the clerk. The eyes, still new in their sockets, put all their years of non-use into a look that might've killed. 

The clerk fumbled behind the counter, and eventually pulled two more from their places. The blade edges shone with deadly radiance. “Are they… satisfactory?” The words of the shopkeeper bounced through the walls, hollow and short. 

The Outsider took the hilt in his hand, and examined the blade. 

Then he positioned himself, just so, eyeing the clerk and gauging the distance. The blade barely resisted as he ran it through the man behind the counter. He gasped, his eyes alight in disbelief, and dropped to the floor, sliding off the shaft with a wet thud. 

“Everything has its price,” The Outsider told the dying man, “this is mine. I've made my decision. May the void be kinder to you than it was to me.” 

As he left he cleaned the blade with the edge of Billie’s coat. The blood ran off the thin leather, and he realized why assassins wore red, despite knowing the reason for ages. She may have reinvented herself, but the Outsider knew she was the same girl he watched grow up on the streets of Dunwall, covered in the corrupt blood of the aristocracy. 

He sheathed the sword in a scabbard from the shop, it held in place with a satisfying snap. The heavy metal brought security to him the way Billie sometimes did. But this time it was his hand holding the blade, his hands shaking and slipping, lacking the years and years of training she had. 

Rain still fell, drenching the streets in its tears. The Outsider allowed himself to be guided by the feeling in his what might've been his human soul or subconscious through the mess of city. He knew where he wanted to end up, and it seemed the void knew how to get there. 

It brought him upon a house, a grand home of Karnacan architecture and color. The heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar, letting him slip his skinny frame through without a sound. Then, the feeling of the void left him, lingering at the tips of his fingers and toes. 

Muffled shouts and bangs sounded a story above him. White curtains billowed from an open window, reaching over the railings of the second story, flapping like ghosts above him, the sound of rain faint. He followed the nearest staircase, which led him to the source of the noise. 

A man's back was to him, approaching a fallen aged man, whose throat was barely a breath away from death. Billie crouched above him, holding the blade, breathing heavily. Behind her was Thomas, hooded and standing off with another few guards. Her eyes were wide, conflicted, seeming to think a thousand thoughts at once. 

The Outsider took a step, and she made her choice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired of this chapter pls take it. Also next chapter is most likely going to be the last, thank you to everyone who has stuck around <3

“If this storm ever lets up we might be able to pull this off.” 

She regarded him, cigar working busily against the rain. It glowed and puffed like a steam engine in the gloom. 

“We’re going to leave damned tracks in the house at the least.” 

“And at the most?” 

Thomas raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face still mask-like, “At the most we’ll drown just from standing here.” 

Her eye returned to taking long sweeps of the house. A handful of servants busied themselves inside washing the windows or scrubbing the polished floors. Billie took a spyglass from her pocket and continued to watch intently. “We could've ended up scrubbing the floors of some cruel lord for pocket money. Even the urchins have their uses. What separated us from them?” A servant spilt the mop bucket, sending the foul water across the floor. 

“We're not afraid of death.” 

“No death but our own, it seems. There's an opening.” Billie lowered and replaced the spyglass to its home in the pocket of the dark coat Thomas lent her. It blended with the city, he said. It lacked pockets, she replied, but accepted it nonetheless. Its woolen interior kept her warmer than any other article she possessed, so that was that. 

The two descended from their perch and onto the street. It was difficult, but not impossible, to climb to the second story window where Billie located the opening. An overhang above kept the stones from being slick with rain and slime. The servants had their backs turned, their master clueless several stories away. Thomas gently opened the window and made his way through, carefully stepping on the scrubbed floor with his soaking boots. They made soft squeaking noises but Billie could only hope to be as silent as he as she followed him into the building. 

Their target, a Karnacan aristocrat, co-owned a small company that produced fabrics for both the nobles and dockworkers. The business partner suspected their failing sales were due to the aristocrat and wanted evidence of theft in his manor and a clean removal of the perpetrator if found. Thomas took the contract; the reward the partner was offering was enough to split. He suspected Billie had her doubts reentering the business, but only time would tell him. Hesitation was never something he encountered when working with her, so it kept his fears at bay. 

“Second story?” He asked. 

Billie nodded, “Unless he's moved. It looked to be clear of guards.” 

They climbed the stairs and crept along a hallway filled with the wispy curtains of summer. The fabric fluttered by an open window, a red dance against the pale walls. A carpet cushioned their footfalls, and Billie wondered if any of their victims regretted furnishing their house in a way that kept them from hearing unwanted intruders. It never mattered in the end, though, the jobs always got done and the victims never had time to express such regrets. 

At the end of the corridor stood a lone white door, its handle black metal, cool to the touch. Billie opened it slowly, peering through. It seemed to be a storage closet, filled with boxes and discarded paintings. Below the crown of the ceiling, though, was a vent opening, covered by a slatted metal piece. 

“In here.” She whispered over her shoulder. Thomas, surveying the manor from their position, backed in her direction slowly. The door creaked softly when Billie closed it after him. “The vent will bring us to the other side if you can get the cover off.” 

He nodded and set to work. His hood hung low over his eyes, dark blue-grey in color. Billie stood and mused over the possessions inside the closet. Wealth was apparent; stacked golden ornaments sat on shelves collecting dust. She suppressed an urge to knock it to the floor, but settled for pocketing a few small coins no one would miss. 

A single painting was hung on the wall, rising above the others. It depicted a solitary tower in the sea, a lighthouse. Fog covered most of the base, and the sky glowered grey. It reminded her of Dunwall, with a pang of what've might've been remorse. She missed the old city, even if it held bad memories. Dust fell off the canvas when she wiped her hand across its surface. Her fingers left tracks in the grime, and all at once, the picture fell from the wall, shattering the frame. 

Billie jumped back in surprise, letting the pieces scatter. Thomas looked up from his steady progress of removing the vent cover, but she shook her head and kicked the canvas aside. On the wall, behind where the painting had hung, sat a safe, snug inside the wall. She tried the lever, with no particular hope of it opening, but was surprised when it swung open with ease. 

A faint song came from the shelves of the safe. It called to her with no voice yet she heard it. A carved whalebone sat stacked behind bars of gold and silver. Billie pushed the ingots aside and pulled out the rune, marveling at how the owner wished to conceal not only his wealth, but beyond that, a connection to the void. 

Billie pocketed the bone, snapping the pocket shut, and replaced the door of the safe. 

“It's loose.” Thomas announced at last, as the metal piece jerked away from him, losing its last attachment to the wall. He set it aside and tested the walls of the shaft. “I think it'll hold. After you.” He held his hand out and stepped aside. 

Billie stared at him blankly, “I- I,” the bone hummed stronger in her pocket. She felt it vibrating, demanding her fingers slip into her coat and hold it. Hold it close and never let go. Black eyes stared out from Thomas’ skull. He watched her, patient, malevolent. The eyes watched, behind them the vast expanse of the void that lacked a figurehead. “This is yours.” She offered the bone. 

Very slowly, the void bowed Thomas’ head in agreement. He held his hand out to her outstretched palm and curled her fingers around the bone. 

“A decision must be made. How you live cannot last forever. Blood has been spilt in your name.” The words were silent but echoed in her ears. Billie watched Thomas’ face, slack and smooth as if he were sleeping. 

“This is the last time we speak, Billie Lurk, but know I will be watching you.” 

She crawled into the vent as Thomas returned to himself. 

It was big enough to crouch in, thankfully, and smelt of chimney smoke. Layers of grime coated the bottom panel and it creaked and groaned under their combined weight. 

Soon they came upon the room they searched for, lavish with an orange glow from the fireplace lit to ward off the chill. Billie stared through the ventilation covering at the floor and concentrated on listening. There were breaths from what was hopefully a single man. She turned so that her and Thomas were face to face, the opening below them. 

She held up five fingers. Four. Three. Two. One. 

The vent fell away under her boot, clanging to the ground, flying away to rest under some furniture. They dropped down and searched the room. 

Billie kept a scarf and hood covering her face, as did Thomas, but as soon as the aristocrat’s eyes met her own, she felt he saw straight through her. They were fearful, but understanding. This wasn't about his company or his partners, this was the void, letting him know his prayers will not be answered. 

She kept her sword drawn, pointing it at him as Thomas searched the room. He scanned papers and swept them from the desks as he finished. They fluttered to the floor and the aristocrat only watched in resigned horror. 

“Where is it?” Thomas asked, his voice level risen far above what Billie was used to. He was almost shouting. 

The mouth opened, and shut again, thin skin of his neck bobbing in fear. “S-safe. Behind a painting- the lighthouse.” 

Billie hissed in annoyance, “We’re not the Abbey. Where are your business records?” 

“I- oh. Oh dear.” She caught his dark eyes flick, for a briefest second, to the fireplace. Before she could react, Thomas was on top of him, ramming the sword as far as it would go into the man, the hilt burying in his chest and staining the well-tailored clothes red. 

Thomas pulled his scarf down and wiped the back of his and across his mouth. “Fucking snakes are rotten to the bone. Just like Dunwall.” 

“Did you expect it to be any different?” 

Thomas shrugged, “Doesn't hurt to be optimistic once in a while.” He pulled the sword from the man, flicking blood on the tiles. Billie fought back a grimace. 

“No stomach for it anymore?” Didn't fight it back hard enough she supposed. Thomas looked at her with what might've been pity.

“How many innocent people have we killed?” 

Thomas shook his head and wouldn't look to her eye, “That's not what it's about. You think that black-eyed bastard was innocent? It's bothering you now?” 

“Hasn't it bothered you?” 

“Since-” He stopped, hands curling in on themselves, biting his lip, “since the beginning. But I never let it stop me. This is the life I wed myself to.” 

A bang. A fist on the door, peering eyes of the guardsmen through the window. Three more bangs as the guardsman slammed his fist again. “Surrender your weapons,” he bellowed, “intruders!” 

“Is he innocent? A man we’ll kill for freedom?”

They stepped back, shoulders touching, squaring against the soon to be oncoming flow of soldiers. Their faces, brutish and blunt, seemed to be with the smiles of feral dogs, salivating over their first prey in months.

Billie ignored him, drawing her sword, focusing on an escape. “If we make it through them, at the end of the hallway there's a window overlooking a roof.” 

“It'll be slippery.” 

The door creaked under another pounding from the guardsmen followed by several gunshots. The hinges flew every which direction and the pack of men streamed into the room to meet them. 

“Doesn't look like we have much of a choice,” She called over the clamor, and began to sprint for the hallway. 

Before the two made it, another patrol of guardsmen rounded the corner. To investigate the ruckus, presumably. They spit and shouted upon finding the intruders, dumb eyes blazing with an eagerness for bloodspill. 

All movement froze, then. Billie almost convinced herself it was the remains of a bad dream, one that she would wake from soon. 

She met his eyes as soon as he appeared. The too-light eyes wavered, questioning. His hands held a sword, sharpened, polished, edged with smeared blood. 

With an action of grim determination, she broke the stillness with a well-placed lunge and stab through the guardsman. The body of men erupted in a protest, loud and rabid. 

“Get the hell out!” She called to the Outsider, who began to back away from the advancing men. “The window!” 

The sword dripped with gore and she slashed at the same guard, sending him flying to the floor. Two more advanced and she cut them down. Thomas was on her heels, facing the opposing men, following her carefully. 

The Outsider rushed past them and bashed the window out. Shards flew onto the street below, and many flew back in. His hands bled. 

“Out, get out-” she called and nearly pushed him into the street. He braced himself, preparing to leap, and sailed across the gap. 

Billie turned behind her to be sure Thomas was following her. He was, though still fighting off the guards. Her eye met his and he smiled, thin-lipped and pale. Then his eyes grew, in shock and pain. A silver sword tip protruded from his ribs. She felt the blood rush from her face. 

The guard drew his sword back and Thomas swung forward with the momentum. She caught him as he stumbled and there was enough life left that she could guide him to cross the gap between the buildings. 

The Outsider caught his other arm and helped her drag him across the roofing tiles away from the gunfire of the guards. Blood was beginning to seep from his mouth and the wound, blooming in his clothes. He watched her face, straining and beaded with sweat, a look of focus, denial, and fear upon it. Thomas grimaced. 

“Here,” he tugged them both behind another protruding roof, “if we drop, there's an abandoned room.” 

After he slid down the roof, Billie followed, carefully helping Thomas down with his fading consciousness. The sounds of the guards was a whisper now. 

The room was indeed abandoned, rats scampered into the walls when they entered. Furniture lay dusty and fading in the room and Thomas was gently lain on the couch. His breaths made a high pitched whistle, his lips pale and ashen. 

Billie shook her head, “I shouldn't have come to you, this would never have happened.” She lay her hand on his chest, carefully avoiding the wound. There was a ragged hole next to his heart and she knew neither the Outsider nor herself had enough knowledge of medicine to make him whole again. 

His hand rose to her face and he cupped her cheek, a trace of a smile. “We were a family.” 

He dropped his hand, still straining in pain, and finally lost consciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

The night was long and the rain poured down relentlessly. She stayed beside the dying whaler with his head on her lap as his breathing slowed, sounding more and more painful with each breath pulled from the air. 

The Outsider only stood with his back to her, looking out the window at the downpour. It turned the entire room blue and spotty, a gentle patter silenced the sounds of their breathing. 

“I-” he began, drawing her attention from the dying man, “There was a shopkeeper, he was sneering and prideful. I killed him, Billie. I killed him because I knew that's what you did, you and him. But that's not what the void wanted. It balanced the world by killing your friend.” His confession came out too slow, too bulky and awkward. He missed the time when he knew what needed to be said, what pathway it would take him down. 

“That can't be what you think.” She told him, looking back down at Thomas. “That place might be the force behind everything, but we can't think like that. We take what comes.” 

The Outsider stayed silent, watching the lamppost down the street flicker. The grand guard patrolled under it, their uniforms soaked with the rain. 

He murmured softly to himself, below the pour of the rain, where she could not hear him, “And the rest is void.” 

By dawn the whaler was dead, the blood leaking out of him came to a stop, and Billie lifted his head from her lap. 

“We’d never rebuild, Thomas. Not in the way that Daud would have wanted. He left us all broken and useless, unable to do anything beside kill.” 

The Outsider listen to her silently, crouched below the window, the last of the raindrops trailing down the window. He was still, and for a moment, thought of absolutely nothing. 

“I'm sorry.” 

They took his body to a bluff above the sea and buried it with a shovel the Outsider stole from someone's rooftop. The ground was soft from the storm, and they watched the sun climb higher and higher into the sky, drying the rainfall into the mud. 

“What’ll you do now?” He spoke above the wind, hair whipping around his face like dark ribbons. His pale face held onto that seriousness she knew he'd never be rid of. A mark of age. 

She scoffed, “We. What will we do now?” 

The Outsider shook his head, “No. I've done enough.” He set the shovel onto the ground, “I want to know that you'll be okay to go on.” 

“You can't blame yourself.” He was silent at her words, “And you think death is going to stop me? You really didn't watch me up there, did you?” 

“One of my regrets.” He let out a laugh, bitter, “Regrets are still new. Linear time is so frustrating.” 

Billie nodded, smoking another of those cigars that made him cough. “No I'm not the mourning type. But he knew what he was doing, better than I. I'm going to pick up his work, go back to the beginning. You're always welcome under my roof.” 

“You don't have a roof,” he laughed, less bitter than before. “I have a different request.” 

The docks were quiet for mid-afternoon, a gust of sea breeze ruffling their too-long hair. The sun emerged from the last of the retreating clouds, showing its full face after the long rains. The gulls cried out in long drawn-out screeches. She watched him as he walked to the end of one of the docks, the shabby clothing on his back fitting in with the sailors. Years ago, Billie never would have guessed that the boy possessed the power of the cosmos in his fingertips. He looked so ordinary, and she knew that the Abbey, the Eyeless, even Daud and the whalers themselves, knew nothing about the chance of the universe that kept a boy imprisoned, and turned him into a god. Just a boy, turned by fate. 

She watched him speak with the ship captain, an older man, his face weathered by the sea, his hair the color of fine sand. The Outsider listened intently, nodding his head, fingers occasionally brushing away his hair. At last he shook hands with the captain and returned to Billie. 

“There's room for two, of you'd like.” 

Billie smiled, “I've done my time at sea. I have no place among the common folk any longer. You might still have a chance, though.” 

“I might.” He scratched his chin, eyes distant, watching the city above her. “You're returning to the streets?” 

“Only thing I know for sure. I've done everything else, and who knows, maybe I'll do what Daud did. There are lots of kids in need of food and skill, and a lot of Eyeless in need of slit throats” 

“I hope for my sake that doesn't happen.” The Outsider laughed, and for once Billie saw his humanity, as bright and clear as the sun beating above their heads. “This is where I leave you, Billie Lurk. May our paths cross again.” 

Billie nodded, holding her hand out to be shook, but he met her with an embrace, hugging her so tightly she felt her spine might crack. He smelt of the sea. 

She didn't see him in the months following, worried that the merchant ship might've been swallowed by the leviathans themselves. The docks remained populated throughout the summer, business never wavering. Slowly, she cut through the ranks of the remaining Eyeless in Karnaca, the cult dissolved into nothing as their bodies filled the gutters outside bars and the mines. The rats got to them as soon as she'd bring another. The Abbey caught wind of her and remained ever diligent in rooting out heresy where it might bloom. She was always a step ahead, though, staying in the city until at least she knew he was safe. There weren't many things left in the world she cherished, but he was one of them. 

On the last day of the summer, she saw him on the merchant ship, his face tanned and his eyes pale. His face tilted toward the city, where she sat on a balcony. She waved, and he waved back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Sorry its so much shorter than the other chapters, I don't have much to wrap up. If you enjoyed it, please let me know, I'd really appreciate it!   
> I'll most likely be doing a bloodborne fic in the future, so if anyone's into that feel free to stick around


End file.
